Home through the Dark (20 page)

They all came crowding out of the sitting room, exclaiming and laughing, their faces flushed and voices shrill. My eyes went past them to Carl, rigid against the door frame. With an effort he pushed himself away from it and the crowd parted before him. I kept my eyes desperately on his, closing my mind to the babbling crowd around us, and some message must have got across because his gaze, hard and cold as blue ice, altered slightly. I said drily, “I'm sorry to interrupt but I have to speak to you.”

“Get Ginnie a drink, someone!” Jessie Winthrop called, and added with a giggle, “Sorry, I'm treating you like a guest in your own home!”

There was a small, splintered silence as all of them wondered whether it was indeed still my home. I smiled tightly and allowed Carl to take my arm and lead me into the sitting room, thrumming and vibrating with the music on the stereo. No soft piano concertos here, I thought bleakly, and closed my mind to the comparison. Buntie, slightly more drunk than the others, was accordingly less cautious. “Darling, where on earth have you been all this time? Carl was like a clam; he would never tell us a thing!”

I took the glass Robert Winthrop handed me, but before I could reply, Carl said steadily, “There's no mystery. She's been down at Westhampton. We've seen each other several times.”

Buntie gave him a playful pat. “Naughty boy! And all the time we thought you didn't know where she was and were trying to console you!”

I thought in a panic, if she doesn't stop I shall burst into tears. And again Carl came unexpectedly to the rescue. “Look, everyone, Ginnie and I have some things we need to discuss. Would you mind if we postponed this get-together till next weekend?”

There was a general, slightly embarrassed chorus of assent and everyone began to make for the door. Above the elaborate ritual of apologies and extravagant thanks, I caught Buntie's wail: “But darling Ginnie's only just arrived! Aren't we even to be allowed to talk to her?”

Despite the almost oppressive heat in the room, I found I was shivering and set the cold glass carefully down on one of the little lacquered tables. Looking round the beautiful room, I now acknowledged for the first time that I had never liked it. I felt far more at home at the Beeches after four weeks than I had here after four years. It was all so pretentious somehow and self-conscious, like a stage set that would be greeted by a spontaneous burst of applause when the curtain went up. And here Carl and I had lived our stilted and artificial life together, as though an unseen spotlight followed our every move. The result of it, as I now saw, was that we didn't know each other at all.

The outer door closed at last. Carl came into the room and switched off the compulsive beating and pounding of the record. Silence leaped upon us, assaulting our eardrums almost as painfully as had the intense noise of a moment before. I reached quickly for the glass. He was still standing by the far wall, looking across at me.

“I'm sorry I broke up your party,” I began shakily.

“It wasn't my idea, I assure you. Having decided I mustn't be alone, they insist on coming back with me nearly every evening. No doubt they mean well, but I wish to God they wouldn't.”

“I'm also sorry it's so late. I did try to get you earlier but there was no reply.”

“We've been at the theatre all day – preliminary discussions, casting, auditions, you know the routine.” There was a short silence. Carl said abruptly, “How's your drink?”

“All right, thanks.” It struck me for the first time that out of them all he had been the only one who was completely sober. I had planned several alternative opening remarks for this moment but now that I needed them they faded from my mind, leaving it blank. Over by the door Carl waited. At last I said in desperation, “I need your help.”

“Oh?” His eyes were watchful and wary. My hands tightened on the glass and keeping my eyes on it, I said rapidly, “It's about Etienne Lefevre. I know where he is.”

Another silence. Then he said tonelessly, “Didn't you always?”

I shook my head. “I'd no idea what was going on.”

He moved impatiently. “Oh, come on, Ginnie, you'll have to do better than that. That evening in Westhampton –”

“I tell you I didn't know. I just – threw out Madame's name to see if it would have the same effect on you as it had on the others.”

“And did it?”

I said numbly, “You know the answer to that.”

“But if you really didn't know anything, why didn't you explain? Why let me go on thinking –”

“You weren't in the mood for explanations and nor was I. It was easier just to let you go.”

“I see.”

I looked up quickly. “I didn't mean – I only meant –”

He walked unhurriedly across the room and sat down on the sofa beside me. “Look, Ginnie, we've the hell of a lot to talk about, but let's leave the personal side until we've cleared up the rest. You'd better start from the beginning.”

Stumblingly, with him prompting me from time to time, I gave him the rough outline of what had happened from the moment Etienne's Fiat had sent me spinning into the ditch outside Westhampton to my whispered consultation with him at the theatre the day before. When I had finished, Carl said slowly, “So it really was a genuine kidnapping after all. We were never convinced of that. What first gave you the impression they were suspicious of you?”

“I think Stephen was all along. I'm not sure why, but after a while there were phone calls and doorbells ringing in the middle of the night and someone always watching me from a seat in the park.”

He stared at me incredulously. “And you still went on with it? Were you out of your mind? Why in God's name didn't you come to me before?” And then, without waiting for a reply, he added sharply, “No one actually tried to harm you physically, did they?”

“No, the worst time was probably when someone climbed up on my balcony one night. I think it was Stephen.”

“What happened?”

“Marcus went after him.”

He moved fractionally. “Ah yes, Marcus. He was – with you?”

“Actually I was with him. I'd gone for dinner at his flat. He – happened to look out of the window and saw the figure.”

“I see. Then I suppose I have to be grateful to him. How much does he know about it?”

“Nothing; I didn't dare tell him.”

Although I didn't turn my head, I knew Carl was watching me intently, but all he said, after a pause, was, “I suppose I'd better tell you my side of it, though you know most of it from what Suzanne Grey told you. The first I knew was when Madame rang me in great distress a few days after – after you'd left and asked me to go straight round. She told me everything then, that the change we'd all noticed in her a few months previously had been caused not by her son's death but by his sudden and unwelcome arrival in London.

I gather life had become a nightmare for her. Not only was she terrified of being discovered harbouring a criminal, and an illegal entrant at that, but from what she said I think he used to knock her about a bit to try to get more money out of her. She daren't invite anyone to the house and she was frightened every time the doorbell rang. Added to all this, he would regularly disappear for days at a time. She never knew where he went but she was convinced he had established contact with some dope ring and was back in the old routine. He'd always been very vague about how he managed to get into this country, and she was only able to fill in the gaps when Suzanne went to see her. By that time she was nearly out of her mind with worry because the police had phoned to report finding the Fiat, which, of course, was registered in her name. It had apparently been parked without lights on the embankment.”

“Stephen must have driven it back when he came to post the ransom note. I presume that had a London postmark?”

“Yes. Anyway, Suzanne's news about his contact with the theatre was the first real lead, and of course since they'd helped him before, the obvious assumption was that they were helping him again; in other words that they were concealing him at his own request as a means of extortion. It was easy to explain away Suzanne's ignorance of what had happened. She was so highly strung she could easily have made a slip and given everything away.”

“So your first visit to Westhampton was purely reconnaissance?”

“Exactly, and in the meantime we had decided to ignore the ransom note. They knew Madame would never go to the police with it, since that would mean exposing Etienne's presence here. We concluded it was simply a question of letting them pay for his keep instead of Madame, which seemed an admirable arrangement.” He paused. “You can imagine I was somewhat surprised to find you there.”

“And you tried to warn me to keep away from the theatre.”

“In rather a clumsy way, yes, though it never occurred to me for a moment that you were in actual danger. And then, when you suddenly came out with Madame's name – well, I just wasn't thinking straight at all. I wanted to believe you were in on the plan but I never managed to convince myself and I never mentioned your being there to Madame.”

“So, what happens next?” I asked after a moment.

“I suppose we'll have to get him away from them, though Lord knows what we'll do with him then. No doubt his poor mother will be lumbered again. One thing's certain, I'm damned if I'm going to risk my civil liberty or whatever by being an accessory after the fact. Is that the right phrase? It sounds good, anyway. If we go to the police it'll come out that Madame was sheltering him before the kidnapping though I imagine there'll be extenuating circumstances.”

“Perhaps we should leave it to her to decide. We'll have to tell her, anyway, that I've located him.”

“Yes, but I imagine the best thing would be for us to drive down tomorrow and force a confrontation of some kind. We'll have to play it by ear when the time comes.” He stood up and took his own glass and mine over to the bar. “Which leaves us free to turn to more personal problems.” I sat unmoving, listening to the splash of the liquid and Carl's footsteps coming back over the carpet. “You know,” he said conversationally, handing me my glass, “when I saw you just now standing at the door, I thought you'd come to ask for a divorce.” The lengthening silence jarred on my taut nerves. “Do you want one, Ginnie?”

I looked up and met the force of his eyes. “Do you?” I countered.

“Like hell.” He sat down carefully, his eyes on the level of the brimming glass. “That Marcus chap, though. I presume he is in love with you?”

“It's possible,” I said faintly.

“He's obviously much more your type than I am.”

“Undoubtedly. There's one snag, though.”

“Which is?”

“That I'm fool enough still to love you.”

He reached out and gripped my hand tightly. “Fool's right. Ginnie, you know sackcloth and ashes were never my scene, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry about Leonie. Will that do?”

I smiled tremulously. “For one who in his time has spoken all the most lyrical love words in the English language, you don't cut a very romantic figure, my darling.”

“I do love you, though, in my own selfish, inconsiderate way. One hell of a lot. That's been borne in on me in no uncertain way these last few weeks. When you went away it was – like an amputation.” He turned to look at me, still gripping my hand. “I want you back, make no mistake about that, but I'm not fool enough to ask you to come back to the kind of life we had before. We wouldn't stand any more chance of making a go of it than we did last time. I've been trying to see a way round the problem and I think I've found it.” With his free hand he reached for his glass and drank. I sat unmoving. “Have you read anything about the new art centre they're building up in the North Riding? It's to be a fantastic project – theatre, library, art gallery all in one complex. They were looking for people to run it and I put my name forward. I heard the other day I've been accepted, but the final decision is up to you.”

“You mean you'd leave London?”

“I'd come down from time to time, of course, to act or produce, and we could take a furnished flat for as long as we needed one, but half the trouble has been that I've been far too bogged down in the glamour and prestige of life here; you know that better than anyone. We'd be off to a much better start working together on this new challenge – and I do mean together, because I should need your help. So what do you say? Will you come to Yorkshire with me and make it all worthwhile?”

For the first time I saw in his face the uncertainty, the basic insecurity he had admitted but which I'd never been able to accept. “Yes, darling,” I said softly, “I'll come.”

I WOKE the next morning to find Carl propped on one elbow looking down on me. “I'm still trying to convince myself that it isn't all a dream, but since you seem real enough perhaps we'd better think about getting some breakfast.”

I stretched sleepily. “What time is it?”

“Just after nine. I'll wait till half past and then give Madame a ring and let her know we're coming round.”

The sun was shining when we left the flat an hour or so later. “I've brought a few things just in case I need them,” Carl said, tossing a small grip onto the back seat of the Bentley, “but we should be back tonight if all goes well.” A tiny pinprick appeared in my bubble of happiness. If all goes well. We still had a difficult and perhaps dangerous task ahead of us before we could relax and begin our new life together.

We collected my own case from the Kingston and Carl paid the bill; I had at least made some use of the room during the long hours of waiting yesterday. Then we drove through the russet and gold of Regent's Park to Madame Lefevre's beautiful home. She met us at the door and, despite her anxiety, swept me immediately into a warm embrace. “It is so good to see you again,
chérie.
Carl has been
distrait
without you.”